


Chrysalis

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [15]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, sunset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:15:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maedhros shows an aptitude for saddles, Fingon indulges, and  Thangorodrim watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysalis

  


* * *

 

 

 

“The buffaloes are in the stables now; the old ones where the horses used to be. The horses could not bear the cold winds from the north and I had to build a new stable for them to the east. The herdsmen are now complaining that it is unlucky to rear domestic animals in the north; superstitious lot they are. But I cannot afford to build another stable, can I? Moreover, the buffaloes are happy enough and their yield has multiplied thrice over since the shift,” a pause and then, “Are you listening to a word I am saying, cousin?”

I rid myself of my distracting musings and smiled at him. His maddening proximity was doing nothing to help my concentration. He looked splendid. Perhaps it was the fresh air of the mountains, perhaps it was his self-imposed isolation away from our interesting family, perhaps it was the long hours of hunting and walking he engaged in. Whatever the reason was, he had never looked better. The flush of honest exertion warmed his cheeks and tiny beads of sweat glistened on his brow. But it was those eyes, the eyes of the Broidress which only he had inherited , that evinced his contentment and inner peace. They sparkled in the faint winter sun, reminding me of the polished pewter vessels that my mother used to be fond of.

A gust of wind blew through the copse of trees that we were strolling through. . His unruly hair, which was notorious for its disobedient untidiness, flew into my face. I smiled as he muttered an exasperated curse and dragged the coils of his mane away from my skin.

“Some things never change,” I told him.

“Every shearing season, when the herders take their knives to the sheep, I feel most tempted to do the same,” he said.

“If you do anything as foolish as that, I don’t think anyone would forgive you,” I warned him, not amused at all by his words. I had seen the mane shorn away, many years ago, and it had broken my heart.

“I jest,” he said hastily, as he realized what I thought of. “Pray, don’t take my words seriously.”

In the soft sunlight, with the winds playing havoc in his hair, his eyes holding that particular mix of concern and apology, he made me fall in love with him all over again. Thangorodrim would never leave him and he would never leave my heart. All bonds that chain us are not made of steel or hallowed by the Gods.

“Are those buildings I espy your new stables?” I asked lightly, wanting desperately to change the subject.

“If you had paid attention to my long, rambling discourse on the outbuildings of Himring, you would have known that these are the buffalo-sheds. The stables are to the other side of the castle.”

“My attention span has always been abominable,” I reminded him.

“True,” he smiled. “Well, let me take you to the stables then. There are some magnificent colts this season. Take your pick, cousin. They are well-bred and shall make excellent chargers with time. Oh, they are such fine creatures.”

“You shall always be finer than any stallion bred.”

I had not meant those words to escape me. But my unlucky tongue had run away with me and it resulted in one of the most uncomfortable silences that had fallen between us. I squared my shoulders and met his gaze. Not for nothing was I called the Valiant. Macalaurë had always maintained that valour was a synonym for recklessness. Now my cousin was staring at me, his features inscrutable.

“Did you just compare me to a stallion?” he queried.

“Let it pass, I was distracted.”

“Very well,” he consented, though his eyes still held a measure of wariness.

We remained in silence for a few moments, before an aide rushed into the glade and bowed to Maitimo, proffering a scroll. My cousin dismissed him and unfurled the parchment, a frown coming to settle on his brow as he skimmed through the contents.

“Ill tidings?” I asked him, concerned.

“It is from Carnistro. He is coming, and so is Tyelkormo.” His eyes took on an introspective shade.

There had been discord between Tyelkormo and Maitimo, according to Irissë. Carnistro and my eldest cousin had always got along well together, though they would fight over trifles.

“Is it unexpected?”

“Yes.” He tucked away the scroll into a pocket in his robes . “I had not expected anyone to join me this season. That is why I invited you.”

“A need for company?”

“In more ways than one,” he said, throwing me a meaningful glance. “I have had a hard time with it.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

His unexpected frankness in admitting his need did not ease me at all. Would I be always merely the dispenser of his baser depravities? Even our merry friendship was a thing of the past.

“Cousin?” His voice held a measure of anxiety.

“Of course,” I said sincerely. “I shall be honoured to help you in any way I can.”

* * *

 

Later, as we dined that night, speaking easily of family concerns and strategies, he leant in and asked quietly, “Could you join me later?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to reply. It had been many years since I saw him last. Many partners and many encounters in the dark had paved the way of time for me. I wondered if he had resorted to the same. He was not as carnally minded as I was, perhaps a discreet pass with a warrior in the darkness.

His fingers were unsteady as he picked up the goblet at his elbow and sipped. It was a trifle; but I knew him well.

“Is there anything I need to know?” I asked him kindly, wanting to spare him all that I could.

He shook his head and rose from his seat, his face a study in conflict. I sighed and returned to my goblet, calling upon the alcohol to fortify me for the ordeal that lay ahead.

* * *

I knocked on his doors and pushed them open. He was standing in the middle of the chamber, his composure untarnished by my presence. I barred the doors behind me and turned back to face him. It had been blissfully too long since I had experienced this strange mixture of hatred, disgust, regret and soul-deep love when I morphed into something else for his sake.

“Strip,” I commanded him, the words coming from my mouth mechanically.

He complied, his movements efficient and fast as the robe fell to the floor about his feet. He stepped away from it and faced me, his eyes bearing the peculiar lightness of detachment. Which inner castle did he retreat to in these situations?

I walked over to him and folded my arms about his deceptively lean torso, relearning the curves and the lines that would be always etched in my mind’s eye. He remained still and passive, even when my pelvis strained against his. What worked for others did not work for him. I steeled myself and implored Eru for forgiveness before pushing my cousin down onto the carpet. Before he could catch his breath, I fell down upon him and pinned his forearms high above his head. Until then, he had remained pliant. But now, he stiffened in my grip and a flare of fear shone in his eyes. I released him and sat back on my haunches. My life being devoted to the study of this strange soul, I could immediately discern when something went beyond what he would endure.

His eyes met mine in gratefulness before he rose and walked to the bed. I expected him to clamber onto it, but he stooped down and dragged something out from beneath the cot. I gasped as I saw the saddle and the whip. He held them out to me, his features unreadable.

I wanted to tell him that it was an appalling idea; that I would never disgrace him so. But he was in earnest and now fidgeted ever so slightly, reminding me of the graceful colt my father had broken in years ago, when we had the most painful conversation of my life.

I motioned to the bed, feeling that words would break the potency of this scene. A sigh escaped me, equal parts sadness and desire, when he positioned himself , awaiting my next command. Something constricted deep within my chest and I had to clear my throat twice before I followed him. I had to bite my lips when I looped the saddle about his lithe frame, trying my best not to notice the subtle straining of his sinews against the leather. The saddle was a chequered mesh of leather strips, of the sort that farmers employed on their doughty animals, unlike the ones that we used on our chargers in war.

“Can you balance?” I asked, hushed.

It was no mean feat to stay balanced in that position with only three limbs . The sight of his maimed arm wrenched my heart; yet another thing that bound me to him.

He nodded and tossed his hair, so that it fell away from his back and cascaded about his face, leaving his torso exposed and glowing in the firelight. So equine was this proud gesture that my fingers moved of their own accord to knead his flanks. The feeling of his warm flesh against mine was a miracle that I would never get accustomed to. But as precious as it was, it did nothing for him, and it was not the purpose of our encounter. So I hardened my heart and clutched the whip in my hands as they dealt him what he desired, my eyes concentrating on the faint flush on the nape of his neck that deepened as time passed by .

He held back, as he always did, a low groan being the utmost that escaped his lips. But his body betrayed him, as his breath turned ragged and his sweat pooled down onto the sheets. My hands ached and his flesh complained, but his will was of iron and he would never ask for reprieve. I hated him for that, and I hated myself all the more for what I was doing.

With a curse, I threw away the whip and turned his face about so that our eyes met. He was sweating profusely, and a filigree of veins stood out in his neck. But his eyes remained clear and lucid, testifying to his unnatural tolerance for pain. What had they done to him to turn him thus? I wanted to ride to their stronghold and tear them limb-by-limb for having brought down so proud a creature.

“What good will it do if you hold back?” I asked. The sight of his flayed skin bearing the mark of my cruelty would always haunt my nightmares. I wanted to tell him that I could not do it anymore. It was killing me.

But the sanity and peace in his eyes made me choose differently. “If I am to continue, I must have your word that you will let me know if it exceeds your limits,” I commanded.

He frowned, then nodded. With a wry sigh, I took up the whip again, marring the flesh that I would have died to protect. When it cracked across skin it had traversed earlier, he threw his head back and closed his eyes, the veins in his neck straining in effort. I gripped him to lend him support, for his hand was shaking, and continued my doing. A long drawn out groan escaped him. I nearly stopped, but his endurance persisted and he did not falter. And so we continued, force and pain rising in tandem.

After a dozen more, after his cries had become ragged with pain and after the leather was stained by blood and sweat, he spoke hoarsely, “Now. .”

I threw the whip away, wishing that this scene would never happen again, and looped an arm about his waist to support his frame, for he was at the end of his stamina. He did not react when I prepared him, though a soft curse escaped his lips when I began the carnal rites. It was enough to tell me that he had been chaste since our last meeting.His arm shook badly. I would have shoved him down to spare him the pain, but I knew that he craved it.

A sharp hiss of breath from him made me pause.

“What is the matter?” I tried to still my movements, fighting off the lingering darkness of consummation.

He shook his head and strained against me, shifting his weight onto his knees. I wondered if he knew of the pleasure that could be had in these activities. Was it all about pain and control?

I gripped his flanks, and a low groan escaped him as my fingers brushed the welts caused by the whip. I hastened my movements and attained cataclysm. My consciousness teetered off and he fell forward onto the bed with my hands no longer bracing him .

The air stank of alcohol , blood, semen and sweat. Would those scents ever bring him happiness? A sharp rap on the doors stirred me out of my languor. Beside me, my cousin was still panting, his eyes closed and his body trembling. With a sigh, I undid the loops of the saddle and gently coaxed him out of it, marvelling how he had dared shed his inhibitions enough to broach this depraved game. And I cursed myself thrice over for having made the comparison that had started it all.  
“See to the door,” he said hoarsely, his eyes still shut.

I spread the coverlet over his frame, leaving only his head out. Then I donned my garments before striding across to the door. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw Tyelkormo and Carnistro.

“Cousins,” I said, wondering if my face was drained of all colour. One did not need to be as wise as Artanis or my brother to see what had transpired here. Carnistro’s eyes swept over the devastation in the chamber, widening slightly when he saw the saddle and the whip thrown upon the floor.

“The perverted dog!” Tyelkormo cursed. I wondered if he was referring to Maitimo or to me.

“I will not have you speaking of him thus,” Carnistro said warningly.

“Now I understand why he gave up the kingship!” Tyelkormo continued angrily. “The men speak the truth. He is twisted and sick!”

“That is enough!” Carnistro exclaimed. “See to our convoy.” He added a glare for good measure.

“He cannot-”

“I shall slay you with my bare hands if you continue slandering him,” Carnistro hissed. “Leave. I will see him and come .”

Tyelkormo spared us a haughty, righteous look before leaving, his boots resounding in the corridor. I turned to face Carnistro and said quietly, “I am sorry.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Let me see him, cousin.”

“Don’t come in!” Maitimo called out urgently, his voice still hoarse and parched. “I will join you in an hour, brother.”

“See me before you see Tyelkormo,” Carnistro said. “And make sure that you have some explanation for all this.”

He nodded to me and left. I sighed and closed the doors before going about the chamber and setting it to rights. The saddle and the whip, I shoved down beneath the cot. Then I fetched a glass of water and a soothing salve before joining him on the bed.

“Drink,” I said gently.

He opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and lustrous.

“What is the matter?” I asked him, aghast. Certainly, he would not be so disturbed that his brothers had found out. It was a risk we had knowingly taken.

“Could you set my shoulder?” he whispered. “I dislocated it.”

“Eru!” I cursed. I hastily clambered over him and pulled down the coverlet. He was right. He had cleanly dislocated it. I wished that I had not allowed him to stay in that wretched position for so extended a time. But he had been stubborn and there was nothing I could have done to dissuade him. His breathing hitched when I gently touched the joint. Without hesitating, desperately wanting to end his agony, I wrenched the limb back into the socket. He cried out, his voice breaking on a name that shall always stand between us, his brother’s name.

I allowed myself a fraction of a moment to curse Macalaurë before massaging the ill-treated limb. My companion turned to face me. Tears had escaped him despite his will. A streak ran down his cheek. The stench of urine reminded me of the past, of days following the rescue when his stubborn pride had not sufficed to rein in his body’s whims. He muttered an apology and gathered the bedclothes before throwing them down onto the floor.

“Having me near is dangerous for your limbs,” I joked to alleviate his misery, though it was no jest at all.

“Indeed!” His eyes regained a trace of their languid sparkle and gratitude coloured his tone. “I cannot afford to lose a limb more, though.”

“Tyelkormo was none too happy,” I said, worried. “What shall you tell him?”

“I shall think of something,” he said easily, stretching himself with royal grace.

“Send for Macalaurë, cousin.” It broke my heart to voluntarily bring my rival into the conversation. But I loved my cousin and wanted him to find peace.

“He is busy,” he said coldly. “And anyway, why would I want his company when I have yours?”

“You flatter me,” I said. I did not add that he was a hopeless liar. His eyes shone with the dark truth.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, “in this manner.”

I rose to a sitting position and began rubbing in the salve, silently cursing him for debasing himself thus. He deserved much more. But he did not think himself worthy. And he was too stubborn to be persuaded otherwise. When he relaxed into my touch, despite the pain my fingers would have caused as they caressed the broken skin, I could no longer hold in my turmoil.

“I wonder if you would do me the same honour if I asked you to,” I said bitterly.

He stiffened and spoke in a shocked tone. “Of course not! The very idea of abusing you in that manner!”

“I do it for you,” I said evenly.

“That is different. I need it,” he sighed. “I wish that I am rid of this perverse craving, cousin. I have wished it with all that I am ever since the first time.”

“What brought it about?” I asked him gently, not wanting to frighten him off by demanding to know.

“Nothing in particular.” He shrugged. “My days there were not as bad as people think they were. But among the side-effects is this,” he waved his hand about the chamber.

“You will have a difficult time explaining away the saddle,” I sighed. “Carnistro was shocked.”

“You said I reminded you of a stallion. It was the finest compliment anyone had given me in my entire life.”

I paused in my task and asked incredulously, “You weren’t angry with me?”

“I was.” He laughed; a clear, musical sound which occurred rarer with each season. “Then I decided that it was flattering.”

We fell silent, his shifting beneath my fingers the only movement. It must have been intolerable; the pain. But he was stoic as ever and lay pliant beneath my hands, letting me rub the salve into those ugly welts. He would heal, but my conscience would not. Gradually his breathing evened out and he slipped into his dreams, exhaustion overruling his will.

I finished my task and stepped out into the balcony to clear my head. Across me, miles away, lay the dark mountain that had cost us all. Under its shadow, he had lost his pride and I, my honour.

* * *

 

“Are you mad?” Carnistro’s voice wafted from within the chamber.

Hadn’t I barred the doors? I sighed and made to turn in, intending to tell him that his brother was resting.

“Why are you early?” Maitimo’s voice was still weak.

“You idiot,” Carnistro said emphatically. “Have you any idea what you are doing to yourself? Shall I bring you a mirror?”

“I’ll heal,” Maitimo said languidly, his diction slurred pleasantly by his tiredness.

“The next time I see you thus, Macalaurë shall be sent for.”

“Can’t I use what I have to keep myself sane and alive, brother?” The shade of voice was not something I ever wanted to be on the receiving end of.

“Do what you must.” Carnistro’s tone had gentled. “It breaks me to see you thus. We shall speak during dinner.”

I sighed and made my way in. Carnistro looked up at me and then strode to the door saying, “I have left poultices and a ewer of hot water.”

Maitimo was leaning against the headboard, swathed in the bedclothes, his eyes half-lidded and distant.

“If you bring a poultice near me, I will not be responsible for what shall ensue,” he warned me grimly.

“What may I do for you then?” I asked.

“Stop drinking,” he said wearily. “It ravages my conscience.”

“I have much to account for, and the drink offers temporary salvation. Just as pain offers you reprieve from the past.”

“My arm was useless. It was useless in mere weeks after...I lost nothing by what you did,” he said gravely, his eyes shining in emotion. “Please don’t blame yourself for that.”

“That is but one among many reasons, Maitimo.” I gripped his shoulders and leant forward. “Merely one among many.”

“I am terribly sorry; sorrier than I can ever say; that I asked you to kill me,” he whispered, tracing my brows with trembling fingers. “I was not lucid at all and I was quite sick of life at that point.”

To hear him allude to the most heart-wrenching ordeal I had been through made me shake my head and bury my face against his chest, clutching him to me bedclothes and all. His fingers ghosted over my spine, reassuring and soothing.

“There are times when I think I should have killed you, Maitimo.”

It was a terrible thing to say; but it was the truth. I might have spared us both.

I kissed his sweat-slick shoulder. I had never cried for myself. But I wept for him, for his fall, and for all that bound us together. My tears dampened our torsos as once I had naively imagined our semen would.  
  
He let me vent my grief, remaining blessedly silent. His fingers continued their motions up and down my spine, and he let me clench and unclench my hands about his torso, despite the pain it would have caused his bruised flesh. When I finally trailed down into heaving gasps, cursing all that I revered for having brought us to this stage, he ran his fingers over the nape of my neck, the ephemeral gesture pulling me together back into composure.

“I apologize,” I said wretchedly.

“Don’t,” he said simply. “I know what I am doing to you, and it shall always haunt me. For now, let me offer you what is in my power to give; my body, as flawed as it is. Use it well.”

I made to retort; his body had already been through more than it could bear. Then I saw the strange, vulnerable emotion shining in his eyes. He did not mean pain.

“Can you?” I whispered.

“I doubt it.” His frankness was endearing, accompanied as it was by a faint tinge of red across his cheeks. “But if you will, please try.”

I shook my head in awe at the courage he had to make the proposition. Knowing his discomfort with all things emotional and spiritual when they involved him, I could well imagine the turmoil that must have been ravaging him.

I kissed his collar bone, inhaling deeply of the clean scent of his musk that overrode the stench caused by our previous activities. His fingers hovered over my ribs for an instant before he let his hand fall limp to the bed. I alternated between my lips and my fingers, learning and relearning every inch of him. I knew I would never have this opportunity again. I would treasure this day and scrounge these memories to salvage my wretched heart in the bleak future that awaited me.

“What must I do?” he breathed as I descended to his abdomen.

“Whatever feels right to you,” I murmured.

His hand came to my hair, alternating between clutching my mane and smoothing it back. When my fingers ghosted over his jutting pelvic bones, he drew in a sharp breath and tugged at my hair.

“What is it?” I asked him, marvelling at the sparkling sheen of his eyes.

“It tickles, don’t do that,” he commanded.

I threw him a disdainful glare before proceeding to do that again. His hand flew up to his mouth and suppressed a laugh. I grinned up at him. He tried his best to look disapproving and scornful, but failed miserably when I parted his thighs and drew them up. From the vivid memories of our days in Valinor, I knew that the underside of his knees was extremely susceptible. Findaráto had discovered that in circumstances I cannot elaborate upon.

“Oh, Varda!” Maitimo exclaimed as he drew his legs up to his chin, looking painfully young. I wanted to freeze that moment so that the future would not happen at all. “Not there!”

“More there, you said?”

“I said nothing of the sort!” he cursed between bouts of laughter. “Don’t continue or you may have to face my wrath later.”

“A dangerous prospect,” I said happily as I inched my fingers towards his loins.

“I’d rather not be in this position,” he sighed.

“Come, then.” I sat back.

He offered me a wan smile before kneeling. I rose and knelt behind him. He guided my hand to his loins and said quietly, “You are too kind to me.”

“Let me,” I breathed in his ear, wanting only the memory of our bodies together. Regrets and sins bound us, but for the moment I wanted to forget them all.

He fell silent; his hand hovered over mine as I began to stroke him. His head came to fall back upon my shoulder and his breathing turned harsher as passion began to consume him. I clenched my arm about his stomach, pulling him flush against me. Many knew him. But only I knew this aspect of him. He would not release his control unless he was commanded to.

“Let go,” I exhorted, my breath warming his neck.

He climaxed with a soft cry before falling in my hold, his convulsions racking us both. I bore him down onto the bed and we lay silent. My hand still rested over his heart, measuring the frantic beats as I had done long ago on a journey airborne.

Finally, after he regained his composure, he said shaken, his body still shuddering in the aftermath, “That was intense.”

I kissed his neck in reply. He sighed and rolled away from me, saying blithely, “I am going to face my world. Really, cousin, it is intolerable that you are abed so late.”

“You can’t stand properly, far less walk,” I warned him, as he dragged the stained sheet from underneath me. But I knew he would hurry away. He feared to face the aftermath of our encounters. It was easier on both of us if he left without much being spoken.

“I will manage,” he said lightly, folding the sheet and the bedclothes he had stripped away earlier. I had to smile at his zealous guarding of privacy. “I shall see you later.”

Sometime during the conversation, he had slipped into a clean robe, hiding his bruises quite efficiently and was now smoothing back his hair into a semblance of order. I snorted at the futile task and ducked when he threw one of Carnistro’s poultices at me.

“I shall be off then,” he said, his eyes holding that potent mixture of regret and joy.

I wished I could spare him that. But we had each our own burdens; the chalice we shared was not one anybody would covet. So I nodded and smiled at him, trying to pretend well enough. The turmoil in his eyes eased a fraction and I knew what I meant to him.

* * *

 

After he left with quite an endearingly clumsy gait, I took up quill and parchment before walking to the balcony to compose my letter.

 

 

 

Himring.

Dear lady,

I beg an audience with you. Perhaps, when you come for Findaráto’s coronation in Nargothrond next spring? There is much that I must tell you.

Sincerely,  
Findekáno.

 

I scrolled up the parchment and addressed it to Macalaurë’s wife.

It was time. I owed Maitimo at least this much. I did not know what I would do if my plan worked. But I was resolved to see it through.

* * *

Outside the castle, snow carpeted the land and I saw a familiar figure trudging across to the barracks. He looked every inch the prince he was, refined and composed. Only eyes that knew him well could realize the difference in his gait and the pain each step earned him. His crimson mane flared in the wind and an impatient hand came to shove the disturbance away.

A small girl came running from the barracks, poorly clad to meet the snow. I heard Maitimo’s remonstrance. A moment later, he had lifted the child and was briskly rubbing her feet to warm them. Such a gesture was so deeply idiosyncratic that I had to avert my eyes. He had changed, and yet he had not.

Clouds from the east blanketed the skies, casting their shadow upon the land. Across us, Thangorodrim remained what it always would be; the place where we had both been broken.

I would free him from its legacy if it was the last thing I did.

* * *

  



End file.
